


Nightrain

by Gabinos



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Drug Abuse, GnR, M/M, MFCDZ, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabinos/pseuds/Gabinos
Summary: Nightrain is a song by Guns n'Roses.Accepting drinks, drugs, etc from strangers is not recommended.Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2XsxolKYoutube: http://bit.ly/2WEmU5fLyrics: http://bit.ly/2wzXibmIf you have any suggestions to the text or anything to correct don't hesitate to message me :)





	Nightrain

Detroit, october 16th, 1987  
11:42 pm 

Kanon was on the last train leaving from Ford Station. Exhausted. He’d been working overtime, trying to make ends meet, in a job he hated. He lit his cigarette, carefully looking at the wounds on his fingers. He tried to chill, leaned back against the seat, tapping his left hand on his knee accordingly to the beat of the song on the wagon’s radio. It was still a long ride to his trailer park lot but he was used to being alone on that trip. 

Few stops before the station he would have to switch trains, another lonely passenger hopped on the wagon. A young skinny man, holding a bottle covered by a paper bag. A typical teenager in the late 80’s. The kind of person who gets loaded like freight train and flies high as an aeroplane, besides his average height.

It did not take a long time until Kanon caught the green haired dude’s attention. He sat by his side, offering some of his wine. The worker pulled the bag down to read its label: Night Train.

— Honey, are you drinking gasoline?

— I’m not a honey. I’m Isaak. A mean machine runs on gasoline. And a man as pretty as you should be able to make my motor hum.

Isaak was a cat who’d already lived his eight lives. The massive scar on his face was proof enough. He was a molotov cocktail. An absurd quantity of fuel in a very fine bottle, who would light a match itself, inviting Kanon to get burnt with him. And Kanon agreed with that. They both hopped off the train, taking the one on the way to downtown.

This was a less boring trip for the worker, who had the other sitting on his lap, to the discomfort of the other 2 passengers who changed seats away from them. Isaak’s only concern was his pleasure. And the nice greek traces and firm hands going up his thighs — wrapped in very tight leather pants — were very charming traits in his eye.

Two stations before the final one was their destination, a sketchy and dirty neighborhood. The few people on their path were probably aware of the one-eyed guy’s reputation and did not cross their sight or found it weird that he was all chatty sharing his drink with another man. The 8 in 10 hobos’ favourite beverage.

They went upstairs in the back of a building to a high floor but Kanon had not been counting after a while. The view of Isaak’s ass going upstairs and dragging him by the hand while taking two steps at a time were taking too much of his thinking ability.

The last sips of such suspicious wine were used to push tiny pills down, already inside the minuscule apartment that had few pieces of furniture. Not that they were necessary by any means, in fact they would probably get in the way of all the insanity that happened in there.  
Hours later, Isaak put on a leather jacket on top of his bare skin, taking his new toy to the 24h liquor store nearby — in which the one-eyed young man happened to be the most frequent customer.

— That’s one for you and two for me by tonight. — Isaak said as he took three bottles of Night Train.

— And for the hangover? — Kanon was starting to sober up.

�— Oh… I never learn. — Isaak replied, taking a tiny plastic container filled with some dubious white substance, shaking it with a sly smile on his face.

 

Kanon learned to love that stuff. He would not get off of the Night Train. It did not matter what hour of the day. Both of them, loaded like a freight train, flying high as an aeroplane. Ready to crash and burn. Every time was the “one more time tonight”, ‘cause they could never get enough. And they never learned. Until they crashed and burned. Never to return.


End file.
